


All These Words I Don't Just Say

by elizaye



Series: Fifty Follower Fics [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Compliant, Castiel in the Bunker, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Post Season 8, Season 9 never happened, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 10:44:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1185315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizaye/pseuds/elizaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Today’s Valentine’s Day. Normally, Dean wouldn’t give a shit, except that this is his first Valentine’s Day with Cas, and it feels like it should be… significant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All These Words I Don't Just Say

**Author's Note:**

> For my 450th follower, [albinoflamingos](http://albinoflamingos.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Prompt: _Dean/Cas, something fluffy_
> 
> Okay, this is a sorta-but-not-really continuation of [Start to Make It Better](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1142542), in the sense that I've set it as occurring in the same universe as that fic, like almost two months after the end of it. But you don't need to read the other fic for this one to make sense. (At least, I don't think you do?)
> 
> Also, because fluff is clearly not my area of expertise, I apologize for general un-fluffiness, despite the prompt x.x

“Dean, I’m sure we’ll get back in time. You can quit speeding,” Sam says from the passenger seat, and it may _look_ like he’s relaxed, but Dean can tell that he’s tensed up.

“In time for what?” Dean shoots back, even though they both know what.

They were supposed to have finished the hunt yesterday, but turns out they’d torched the wrong bones—and seriously, they’ve been doing this for long enough that that shouldn’t be happening, anymore. Anyway, the point is that they should’ve been back at the bunker last night, because today’s Valentine’s Day. Normally, Dean wouldn’t give a shit, except that this is his first Valentine’s Day with Cas, and it feels like it should be… significant.

Sam just gives him a _look_ before turning away to look out the window at the passing street lamps, and shit, the lights are all on already, and the sun’s already setting. They definitely won’t be back at the bunker by dinner—Dean knew that much before they even set off this afternoon.

“Okay, seriously, Dean, ease up on the gas a little,” Sam says a few minutes later.

And yeah, okay, maybe forty miles above the speed limit is a bit much when nobody’s chasing them, but there aren’t even any cars on this stretch of highway, anyway.

“I just wanna get home,” Dean says. “Miss that mattress o’ mine.”

“Pfft, yeah right,” Sam says. “You miss the grumpy dude who’s probably on that mattress right now.”

“Close enough,” Dean grumbles, but he does ease up on the gas, because getting stopped by Highway Patrol would only make the trip home even longer.

* * *

Castiel walks into the library and is unsurprised to find Kevin still hunched over the tablet, face propped up on his left arm and a pen clutched in his right hand.

“You need to sleep,” Castiel says.

“You’re not asleep either,” Kevin says without taking his eyes off his work. A moment later, he frowns and looks up at Castiel. “Wait, you said you were gonna get me some coffee. Where’s my coffee?”

“It’s eleven thirty, Kevin. You should sleep.”

“I don’t _care_ what time it is,” Kevin says petulantly. “The sooner I get through these translations and find out how to reverse Metatron’s spell, the sooner I can stop and just be _done_.”

Castiel walks around behind Kevin’s chair and pulls it away from the table, earning himself an annoyed huff. Kevin grabs onto the edge of the table before Castiel can pull him out of reach, but it’s of no consequence—Castiel grabs both his arms and tugs, hauling him up and out of the chair.

“ _Dude!_ ” Kevin complains, flailing a little to get loose.

“If you don’t go to your room, I will not hesitate to carry you there,” Castiel says.

“Okay, _okay_ , I’ll go! Just let go of me,” Kevin says irritably. When Castiel releases him, he says, “Sheesh, who died and left _you_ in charge?”

Castiel opens his mouth, prepared to answer that Sam had asked Castiel to take care of Kevin and Dean had added that he was in charge of the bunker while they were gone, but then he registers the phrasing of Kevin’s question and frowns. “I don’t think I like that figure of speech,” he declares.

He doesn’t like anything that associates Sam or Dean with dying, to be honest. He spends a moment deciding whether or not that’s a sentiment leftover from his days as an angel, when they were his charges, but quickly discards the possibility.

Sam and Dean are his family. Of course he doesn’t like to think of them dying. His past as an angel has no bearing on these feelings.

“Yeah, you wouldn’t,” Kevin says grumpily as he heads toward the exit.

“Good night, Kevin.”

“Night,” Kevin says before disappearing around the corner.

Castiel stares after him for a moment before pushing the chair back in and looking down at the translations. Some of it is split between Cretan and Anatolian hieroglyphs, but the majority of it is in Elamite cuneiform. Each language is difficult but not impossible for Castiel to read, but scrambled up as they are, it will take quite some time to decipher.

He considers sitting down and getting started on the new passage that Kevin’s been working on—he might as well, since Sam and Dean are supposed to be returning sometime tonight. Castiel spares a glance at the entrance to the bunker, anxious for the brothers to return. They’ve been gone for just over ten days, and Castiel misses them.

Dean especially.

He takes the seat that Kevin vacated and picks up the pen, examining the sheet of jumbled letters as he uncaps it. Then he gets a blank piece of paper and starts to work.

* * *

They don’t actually get back to the bunker until just past one. It’s quiet and dark as Dean pushes the door open, and he suppresses the bit of disappointment that Cas isn’t up.

It’s a _good_ thing that Cas isn’t working at this hour. He’s gotten a lot better at sleeping through the whole night, and it wouldn’t make sense for him to undo that by staying up just to wait for Dean to get home.

Still, Dean can’t help but feel a bit bereft as he splits off from Sam to head down the hall to his room for some shuteye. He’s not being _sentimental_ or anything— _god_ , no—but it just would’ve been nice to do something, together. Do something that a normal couple would do, that is. But it’s too late anyway, already technically the fifteenth, and—

Dean’s thoughts grind to a halt as he comes up to his room and notices that the light’s on under his door—maybe Cas _did_ stay up to wait for him.

The door swings open for him noiselessly when he pushes, and he instantly feels something unwind in his chest, a sort of tension that he hadn’t really noticed ‘til it let up.

Cas is lying on top of the covers, on his side, still loosely holding onto a book that has flopped closed around his fingers. He’s already dressed for bed, in a pair of loose pajama pants and one of Dean’s old t-shirts. His breaths come nice and slow and even, and Dean smiles as he steps into the room and shuts the door behind him, setting his bag down on the floor.

Dean debates going to take a shower but quickly decides that it’s not worth it—he’s beat after the long drive, and he’d much rather just get up and shower tomorrow morning. So he strips down to his boxers, tosses his dirty clothes in the hamper, and then sits down on the edge of the bed.

Cas doesn’t wake at the shifting weight on the bed, and Dean smiles again, reaching over to pull the book out of Cas’s hand. He shuts it and puts it on the nightstand before turning toward Cas and ruffling his hair a little.

“Cas.”

Cas hums, still unconscious, and shifts into Dean’s touch when he lets his hand linger on his cheek.

“Hey, Cas. Wake up,” Dean urges, gently shaking his shoulder. “Gotta get under the covers, all right?”

Cas’s eyes open then, and he regards Dean for a bleary moment before sitting up with a jolt and blurting out, “ _Dean._ Oh, I meant to wait for you.”

He looks upset, and Dean can’t have that, so he just yanks Cas closer and kisses the displeased moue off his lips. They’re both tired, so the kiss is slow, languid, Cas parting his lips to tempt Dean inside, hands coming up to pull Dean closer.

When Dean pulls back, Cas is smiling slightly, cheeks flushed and lips swollen. “You didn’t have to wait for me,” Dean says. “You know that, don’t you?”

“But I wanted to,” Cas says, shifting to allow Dean to turn the covers down.

They both crawl in, and Dean reaches over to shut off the bedside lamp, casting the room into darkness.

“You don’t want to take a shower?” Cas asks, and Dean can’t see his face, but he thinks Cas is frowning.

“Nah, too tired.”

“I’d been looking forward to it,” Cas says, subdued, and Dean grins.

“Aw, you missed me, didn’t you?” Dean says teasingly, scooting forward a little and reaching a hand behind Cas to tug him closer.

But Cas answers, seriously, “Very much,” and Dean doesn’t really know what to do with that.

“Sorry I missed Valentine’s Day,” he says eventually.

Cas shrugs one shoulder, the gesture only noticeable to Dean because he can feel Cas’s shoulder moving, and says, “I don’t care much for the concept of Valentine’s Day. There is no need for a day dedicated to celebrating love. I celebrate my love for you every day.”

“Oh Jesus, Cas, who the hell says things like that?” Dean grumbles, trying his best to tamp down the warm glowy feeling that’s spreading throughout his chest.

“Why does it bother you so much to hear my feelings articulated? I would have thought that it was clear enough from my actions already,” Cas says.

“Cas, don’t—”

“I mean it, Dean. I’ve been meaning to ask you about this. Though I may be centuries older than you, you are still an adult by human standards. Why is it that you can accept my love for you through my sacrifices and my actions but not through my words?”

“Can you just stop it with the L-word already?” Dean says.

Cas huffs. “You’re the one who apparently cares about a holiday dedicated to love.”

“No, I don’t,” Dean tries to protest.

“You cared enough to apologize for missing it,” Cas says.

“That wasn’t because I cared about friggin’ _Valentine’s Day_ , it was because—” Dean stops short, unwilling to go on.

So Cas prods, “Because what, Dean?”

That little fucker just wants to hear it, doesn’t he? Fine.

“Because I care about _you_ ,” Dean says with an eye roll to make himself feel a little less girly. Except Cas can’t see that, so he adds, “bitch.”

Cas chuckles lightly and shifts even closer, pressing their foreheads together, and Dean keeps waiting for a snappy comeback, but Cas says nothing.

“What, you fall asleep on me or something?” he asks.

“No,” Cas answers, but he doesn’t go on.

“Okay, then. Good night, I guess,” Dean says, and when Cas just bids him a good night in return, he shuts his eyes, figuring that it’s too late to be dealing with _weird_ right now.

But just as he’s starting to drift off, Cas moves, tilts his head up to kiss Dean’s nose, cheek, the corner of his mouth, and Dean opens his eyes. It’s too dark in the room to see properly, but he can make out the outline of Cas’s cheek as his head goes back to rest on the pillow.

“I know you might not believe it,” Cas says in a low voice, “and I understand that you might be even less capable of saying it back, but I’m here, I’m not going to leave you, and I’m in love with you.”

Dean stops breathing for a moment, caught off guard.

Cas is usually very straightforward, and he’s dropped the L-word now and then, as though it’s just any other fact that he can use in everyday conversation, but it’s been easy enough for Dean to just pass it off as teasing in the past. But this, this is definitely Cas’s Serious Voice, and Dean wants to believe him so, so badly, but he also wants it to be a lie, because it’s never ended well for anyone who’s ever loved him.

“Cas—” Dean starts.

“Don’t,” Cas interrupts quickly. “Don’t say anything. It doesn’t matter whether or not you believe it right now. I just… needed you to hear me say it.”

Cas falls silent then, and for a long while, all Dean can hear is the sound of their breathing. It’s synchronized, the way it always gets when they’re alone together like this, and fuck it all, maybe it’s never ended well for people who’ve loved him, but if anyone can break that pattern, it’s Cas.

He got ripped apart by Raphael, but he came right back.

He was blown up by Lucifer, right before Dean’s eyes, but again, he came right back.

He walked into that lake, oozing poisonous black goo, and he’d taken so long to come back that Dean had almost stopped believing he would.

He stayed in Purgatory, but he came back in the end, anyway.

It doesn’t matter what happens, what kind of shit blows their way. Cas can take it, because he _isn’t_ going anywhere. And Dean has always carefully avoided thinking about the reasons behind it, hid behind excuses like brotherhood, words like fucking _family_ , but he _knows_ this is more.

Maybe they’ll reverse Metatron’s spell and send the angels back up to Heaven. Maybe they won’t, and they’ll handle the impending angelic civil war down here.

Either way, Cas will always find his way back to Dean, and that’s… quite possibly one of the most comforting thoughts Dean has ever had.

“I do, Cas,” slips out of his mouth before he can stop it.

Cas’s reply sounds sleepy. “What?”

“Believe you, that is. I do believe you,” Dean admits. “And—and maybe…”

His voice cuts off there, trailing off into this horrible, suffocating silence, and he doesn’t understand how Cas can just _say_ shit like this without the words getting all caught up in his throat or twisted up in his tongue, jumbled and jagged and unspeakable.

“Maybe is good,” Cas says softly, breaking the silence.

He shifts upward on the bed and pulls Dean in, and even now, he’s saving Dean, putting Dean at ease with a few small words. Dean wraps his arms around Cas’s torso, buries his face in the soft fabric of Cas’s t-shirt, and lets himself be engulfed.

“Maybe is perfect.”

No, Cas is wrong about that. Maybe’s not perfect, not even close to what Cas deserves, but it’s all Dean can manage right now.

Cas drops a kiss on the top of Dean’s head, the touch light enough that Dean almost doesn’t feel it, and then says, “Sleep now, Dean.”

So Dean shuts his eyes and reaches for sleep.

And maybe… maybe might be enough, just for now.


End file.
